


impavid

by SOMNlARl



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Jowan is at the Conclave and gains the Mark, becoming the Herald.</p>
            </blockquote>





	impavid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsurai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurai/gifts).



> Part of the kiss meme prompt on tumblr. I was prompted with Solas/Jowan as the pairing and chose _forehead kiss_ for this one.
> 
> The idea for Herald!Jowan and the pairing with Solas comes from a lot of wonderful brainstorming with tsurai. In no way, shape or form can I claim ownership of any of this except the words I strung together. 
> 
> Ma falon: my friend  
> Lethallin: cousin, clansman. One with whom one is familiar. 
> 
> Impavid: fearless
> 
> You too can come play in my trash pile. xhermionedanger.tumblr.com.

“Ah, good. You finally wake.” A soft yet firm voice drifts from across the room and Jowan starts, throwing off the pile of blankets as he turns to look for the source.

An elf. A familiar face but one Jowan can’t quite place. Had he known him in the Circle before he fled? In Tevinter? No, something more recent but the strands of memory lie just out of his grasp.

The elf cocks his head slightly to the side; cold, grey eyes fix intently on his face. He doesn’t blink and his gaze is so searching, so unnerving that Jowan turns from him, rolling over to stare at the wall of the small cabin he’s found himself in.

There’s a creak of metal against wood; the sole window opening.

And with the rush of cold, mountain air came his memories, such as they were.

_The Conclave_. It had gone wrong of course, as these things were wont to do. _Hardly a surprise_ , everything he touched seemed to go wrong he thinks with a bitter sigh.

He had only gone to observe, to see which way the wind was blowing. It had been so long since he’d last been in Fereldan. Despite the bad memories he hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to see the rebellion for himself. The _mage rebellion_ , because of course they would call it that. No matter that the Templars - the Chantry, damn them - forced this fight. The mages were always at fault. How very little had changed since he’d fled up North.

The explosion. A woman’s hand, reaching for his then slipping away.

He had been captured by unknown forces, interrogated, accused, reviled. Very nearly executed.

Then the tides had reversed. The woman who’d held a sword to his throat and threatened to kill him herself while he was still in irons had defended him, protected him. But why?

His hands throb, pulsing with pain that shoots up his arms. He bites at his lower lip to stifle the gasp that rises in the back of his throat. First the left and oh yes, that’s why he hasn’t been killed. It glows a sickening shade of green, crackles and glimmers in his palm. _The Mark_. Then the right. He looks down and he remembers. Dagger in his hand, a voice screaming. His own. _You don’t belong here! I can help!_ The flash of a whip sparking in the air, electricity crackling as it felled the dwarf, threw him into the walls of the temple.

The Seeker had stumbled next, set upon by fire.

Metal glinting against flesh, the point of a blade pressing up across his wrist into the base of his palm. Just a bit more pressure and… the vein opened, blood flew through the air and up into his face. Mumbled words, an incantation. _I release you, spirit. You have the Wisdom to return home, the Faith to finish your journey. I release you, return to the Fade where you will be corrupted no longer_.

The blood. Always the blood. No matter how far from the Circle he travels he always returns to the blood. He falls to his knees but then strong hands grasp at him, catching him under the arms and dragging him back upright. A cloth is tied across his palm to quell the flow, so tightly he nearly screams with pain, just barely managing to swallow back the sound. The hiss of a voice, breath hot against his neck. _What are you doing? It is not safe, you must not let anyone see."_

The cloth is still there now, a handspun thing, rough and ragged but as he pulls at the edges of the cloth he sees it has done its job. The edges of the wound have knitted easily and they’re pink, healthy; no longer jagged red and inflamed. 

“Peace, ma falon. I do not come to harm you.” The elf’s accent is strange, nothing he’s heard before in his travels but he knows the foreign word. Friend. 

“Then… why are you here?” His voice is thick, painful from too much sleep and the elf pours a cup full of water from the ewer on the table next to him, waving a hand over it to let an ice charm seep through the liquid - Jowan feels his own magic pulse sympathetically - and presses it into his outstretched hand. 

“If I may speak frankly?” Jowan nods and takes the offered cup, sipping slowly at the liquid that soothes the back of his throat. 

“Perhaps it is a matter of simple curiosity. You are, apparently, our new savior.” The elf - _Solas_ \- the name comes to him now - drops to sit in the chair by his bedside. His voice hardens. “Or perhaps I should like to know what, exactly, an apostate mage thinks he is doing not only appearing in the middle of a war but using blood magic in full view of hundreds of soldiers. And a Seeker of Truth, no less.” 

Jowan doesn’t know how to respond so he simply closes his eyes and lays back against the pile of pillows. The explanation the elf seeks sounds strange even to his own ears, he can hardly imagine what it will sound like to another but still, he knows he must answer if only to ensure his own survival. 

“I…” he sighs then sucks in a breath. 

“I don’t know how much you know about spirits and demons?” Jowan opens his eyes again and rolls over to face the elf who simply looks implacably back at him, a small smile pulling at the corners of his thin lips. 

“When spirits are brought into our world, whether through ritual or dragged through this breach, they’re corrupted from their original purpose. Often, they’re corrupted through the use of blood magic. For protection or a boon, by foolish mages who ought to know better.” 

Solas nods slowly and Jowan takes this as invitation to continue. 

“I have a theory… if blood magic can be used to bring a spirit into our world against its will could we not use the same magic to return a demon to the Fade and revert it to its original form, even if against it’s will?” 

“That is… an interesting theory, Herald.” 

“You… you don’t disapprove of blood magic, then?” 

“I do not. It is a tool, like any other form of magic. A tool can be used to noble purpose as easily as to evil.” Solas is silent for a few moments. “I simply wonder to what end you will employ it.” 

“Your idea is an interesting one. To return demons to the Fade without further harm to them. I will think on this. It is... something you intend to continue, yes?” 

It is enough, Solas’ promise of further contemplation. Somehow he suspects that he can trust his fellow mage, inscrutable as he seems at present. 

Jowan yawns, shivering against the cool breeze. He’s not sure if the elf’s question requires an answer and it’s not one he’s equipped to give now. He burrows back under the blankets, relaxing as the elf leans over to press a soft kiss against his forehead. 

“Sleep. Lethallin. We shall discuss this further another day. For now? I shall look for you in the Fade. Sleep.” 

With the elf’s words his eyes flutter shut and his breathing slows. As he feels himself drifting off Jowan doesn’t think he’s ever obeyed an order so quickly.


End file.
